Trust Me
by stylesofstraightedge
Summary: Would you trust a total stranger if it meant the chance to save both your lives? Follow the misadventures of a dirt poor, abused Jon Moxley and a rich, seemingly perfect Jimmy Jacobs as they connect in the projects of Cincinnati. Two kids from different worlds might not be so different after all.
1. Chapter 1: Don't Be A Hero

A/N: LONG TIME NO SEE YALL! So here's the scoop: I know it's been nearly three years since the last time I published, so let me start by saying sorry. I 100% understand if I have lost everyone who cared about my writing. I guess part of it was lack of inspiration, but I was crippled by my perfectionism. I never want to publish anything before it's perfect, but I'm starting to realize that I just need to get my shit out there so I don't get forgotten about. If you read my other story, Panic, first of all: thank you. Thank you so much. Without you, I never would've had the confidence to stick with writing. Second: fuck, I'm sorry. That shit was bad, it was cringey, and it's nothing compared to what I can do now. If you came here looking for more of that author, I'm sorry, but she's dead. She was a high school freshman, she had no idea how the world worked, and I guarantee you won't miss that sub-par writing. I'm hoping you'll be able to give me a second chance, because I'll repeat: that shit was _bad_. But if you have read Panic, you should know that this is an in-depth backstory of the Dean Ambrose character.

I'm using the first chapter of my current favorite project as an experiment. If it does well, I'll go back to posting regular updates to this website. If it does poorly, I'll be more than content to live in my own little universe writing to make myself happy. Please review, good or bad. I want to know what you're thinking.

Thank you for everything, and love, as always.

-SOSXE

Jonathan Good was someone you had to try really hard in order to notice. He blended right into the shadows, which he seemed to be afraid of, just like he was afraid of everything. Nobody really knew why because he hardly ever talked to anyone. He was a genius, but never raised his hand in class. Dark, raccoon-like circles were always around his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in a thousand years. He was so small and thin it was unhealthy, and anyone who paid attention would've known something was up, something was wrong.

Thing is, no one did.

Some days he'd show up to class with a black eye, the really bad kind where the blood vessels pop. Other days, he'd wince with every movement and wouldn't put his backpack on, instead carrying it by his side. On the worst days, if you watched him closely enough, you could see the way each breath was a struggle as he stuffed a fist in his mouth to keep himself quiet. He was the kind of kid who jumped when the bell went off, who looked at the whole world with an impossible amount of fear, as if he assumed that everyone had the intention of hurting him. He was the kind of kid who was always surrounded by rumors, whispers, and nasty insults behind his back. He was the kind of kid who you just knew had a hell of a story to tell, but would never, ever, tell it.

This is his story.

1/7/00 (Friday)

"Nick. The kid can't even stand. He's had enough." Still struggling to get my feet underneath me, Slade's hand clutching my collar is the only thing keeping me from crashing to the ground. Staring more at the dim streetlight illuminating our 11 pm plight than anyone else in particular, I feel suffocated by the knowledge that no one with a conscience will come anywhere near this street until at least eight. We're alone. And somewhere far away in my pain soaked brain, it occurs to me that someone just stood up for me. Instead of relief, it only brings dread front and center. Not only am I even more screwed, so is whoever magically developed a conscience. Once Slade is done reducing that poor sap to a quivering pulp, he'll take his residual anger out on me. Whoever this magic man is, he best run as fast as his legs will carry him, because nothing good will come of this for either of us. I can't get away. But he still can.

Problem is, this guy is almost as stupid as he is brave. And to him, they're basically the same thing.

And who is Nick?

Suddenly his cold, piercing eyes aren't on me anymore. They're focused on someone just behind me, and his grip on me goes nearly slack. I stumble a bit on jelly legs, because as mystery man has stated, I under my own power cannot keep my feet underneath me. And while I do agree with his assessment that I've taken an adequate amount of beating, I still maintain that he needs to shut his fucking mouth if he wants to get out of here alive.

Through my half-lidded vision, I can tell in Slade's body language that he knows this guy. I can feel the anger surge through his body, and while it's clear that he's forgotten I'm still in his clutches, I know fleeing is a terrible idea in this situation. My legs are not up for standing right now, let alone the full-out sprint I would need to outrun the gang.

The best hope I have is that I can try to recover while Slade ruins the guy who stood up for me. With any luck, Slade will be tired out by the time he's done and when they're through with me I'll still be conscious. What this kid is doing is real nice, but if he has to be the sacrifice tonight so I can get out alive, so be it. He had to have known what he was getting into.

Blood in my eyes, I slowly turn my head towards the direction Slade is looking. Breathing hard and coughing with every few breaths, I squint to see him through the stinging crimson affecting my vision. The cloud of indignance surrounding Slade makes it hard to see what he's looking at. He sighs exaggeratedly and shakes his head. He takes a sudden step towards the boy he's looking at, and the boy flinches a bit. Slade laughs, a cold, joyless sound.

"Some tough guy you are."

"I mean it. Put him down. You've made your point. Walk away."

"What difference does it make to you?"

"This is **wrong**. You know it's wrong. He can't even defend himself."

"That's the best part, dude. You gotta stop being so soft. Unless you want to take his place, I suggest you stand there silently and watch the real men work."

"So being a man is beating a little kid to a pulp for no reason?"

"Chris, you're supposed to be the smart one. I was very clear to you about how tonight was going to go down. You were gonna come with us, **keep your mouth shut** , and try to learn something. But you just can't fucking do what you're told, can you? You and your _conscience_ , thinking you're _better_ than everyone else because of course, of **course** you know what's right. Can't you for once in your life just keep your pretentious two cents out of it?"

"You mean to tell me that you don't think it's wrong to beat kids within an inch of their lives ten on one? You've always been messed up, Nick, but I didn't peg you as that delusional. You have to understand on some level that causing someone's blood to drip onto the sidewalk and taking their legs out from under them is cruel." How long have they known each other? Is Slade not his real name? The way they talk, they act like they're... no. No way.

"He fuckin' deserves it, you think he's innocent?"

"What could a kid possibly have done to a 19-year-old man that warrants a shit-kicking like this?"

"None of your fucking business, that's what." I'm slightly relieved by this, as the actual reason, while stupid and petty, is one I don't really need to hear out loud.

"Nick. You have to have a reason. And if you don't tell me, I'm calling the police." He's bluffing. I can hardly even see him and I know he's bluffing. His voice has the subtle tremor of a distant earthquake. I'm sure Slade will see through it. For all the things he's terrible at, he's awful good at sensing fear. Slade glances back at me and rolls his eyes when a shudder runs through my body.

"He owes me money. I've given him chance after chance to pay me back, but he just needs to get the message."

"That's a lie." I croak out. If I keep this up, I'll be dead before I'm legal. I'd do myself a lot of good if I kept my heart in my chest and my pride in a locked box under my bed. Er, my "bed". He shakes me hard and my head snaps forward and back as if my neck was broken. I know he's gonna fuck me up. He might talk about it before he does it, but oh boy, is he gonna fuck me up.

"I'm disappointed in you, kid. Even if my baby brother doesn't get it, I thought at least you would follow my rules. They aren't hard to remember." His brother. His _brother_? Since when does big bad devil-may-care Slade have a family outside of the dad who makes all of his problems disappear? I hold my breath and stare down at the ground, not wanting him to see how much every breath sends sonic waves of pain through my body. "Street rat! I'm talkin' to you!" I wince but keep my silence.

"Nick, fucking hell, leave him alone!" Slade tenses all over.

"Call me that one more time, fag. Go ahead." Through my blurry vision, this Chris guy recoils as if Slade had hit him, then does his best to cover it up. "Oh no, did I hurt your feelings? Do you not like being called that name? Then maybe don't fucking call me by one I don't like to hear either then, huh?"

"Mom named you Nick. Mom did not name me fag." The last word comes out shaky. This guy is a fucking puzzle.

"Yeah? Well, Mom's dead, Chris. Would you like to join her?"

"Really? After all she did for you, you're gonna stand there and make fun of her death? Man, who the fuck are you?"

"Someone who's not afraid of telling your secret if you don't do what I say. That's how _blackmail_ works, brother."

"But—"

"And you know," Slade starts.

"Man, would you—"

"You **know** ," Slade raises his voice, "that dad would beat the piss out of you if he found out." That sets off all kinds of alarms in my head. Slade just said that his dad hits his kids. And that can't be right. It's a logical impossibility. Slade's dad has done everything for him since day one. He pulled every string. There's just no way. I'm familiar with dads who mistreat their children. That's not how they act.

"You think that scares me?" Obviously, it does. Man, this guy is a terrible liar.

"I _know_ it scares you. More than basically anything else in the world. And you gotta live with that bastard, Chris. You don't have an emergency exit. You gotta stay in that house with him. Do you really want to give him another reason to resent you?"

"I've taken a hundred beatings from him, and I'll probably take a thousand more. I'm not going to stand idly by while you lay waste to another human being just to avoid **one**."

"Dammit, Chris. Don't be a fucking hero. That's gonna get you hurt by someone someday." By someday, Slade means today, and by someone, he means himself. He tears his eyes away from his brother and stares me down. This time, I don't let myself look away. I stare right back at him. I can see it in his cold blue eyes that he takes this as a challenge. He smirks and lets go of my shirt collar. Despite my best efforts, I tumble to the frozen ground. They fucked me up bad tonight. I'm not going to be able to get away unless they let me. I push myself back up to my knees, but then a kick hits me square in the chest. I fall back to the ground, flat on my back, gasping. "Is that… all you got?" I breathe. Another kick with the added force of anger catches me in the ribs and I curl up into myself, pain coursing through my body. I close my eyes in anticipation for his foot to connect again, but suddenly a warm hand has a death grip on my wrist and is pulling me to my feet.

I get a good look at this Chris character for the first time. He looks like a version of Slade from an alternate universe. They have the same features, similar hair, and a similar build, but Chris comes from a different world. One where happiness exists outside of hurting people. A place with ambition and good decisions instead of gangs and taking advantage of people. Slade has no idea that universe exists and even if he did, he probably would think it was for pussies and want nothing to do with it. Chris' black hair, blowing in his face in the crisp winter breeze, is longer and softer looking than Slade's rat's nest, and instead of piercing, clinical blue, his eyes are a light, warm brown. They're sad eyes, but they've been lit on fire with hatred and contempt and a distant sort of fear. Around the edges is a rough, heavy black rim of eyeliner, which Slade would sooner die than wear. He's draped in a black Linkin Park shirt that meets acid washed skinny jeans at his waist, and on his nervous, tapping feet are purple and blue checked Vans. Chris is a good deal smaller than Slade, and it's pretty clear that Slade has 20-30 pounds of pure muscle on him. Bad news for my chances of survival. But at least he's bigger than me.

He pulls me behind him. I wish I could say that makes me feel safer. But as I lean heavily against the building beside me, I am reminded that I'm in a very bad way. I can hardly stand. How am I supposed to get away? Slade actually laughs. Like a real, honest to goodness huge belly laugh.

"Oh my god, so you two are some kind of fuck-up team now? That's rich. Yeah, you're so fucking scary now. You can be losers together instead of individually. Congratulations. You're his charity case now, kid. He's taking you on so he can feel like less of a failure. Don't you feel special?" My mind is racing too bad to even consider Slade's words and the validity of them. It's too full of _Slade has a brother, Slade isn't Slade's real name, Slade's dad beats him, Chris has some kind of secret, their mom is dead,_ it's information overload and whether or not Chris actually cares about me is so far down on my list. But I can tell Slade is preparing to strike, and at this rate, he'll be attacking his brother, not me. I feel a weird sense of obligation to Chris. I've never had anyone stand up for me like that before. I've never had anyone believe I'm worth that much. I was so ready to let Chris take the fall for me before I knew who he really was. Now it's too hard.

I'm gonna regret saying this.

"You don't need to take this for me," I whisper in his ear. "You don't even know me, I'm not worth this to you."

"These fights were my childhood." He tells me under his breath, without taking his eyes off his brother. I want to tell him that fighting with Slade has been a big part of my childhood too. "Nobody knows how to handle him better than I do. Between the two of us, I stand a better chance." He takes a deep breath. I wipe the blood out of my eyes as I observe the way he shifts uncertainly from foot to foot and fidgets constantly. Despite his words, his body language is that of someone marching to their death. My stomach drops as I mull over the very real possibility that this guy could get himself killed for a stranger. Does he have a death wish?

You see, no one with half a brain stands up to Slade. Even on my dumbest days, I know when to give up, stop fighting back, and wait for him to leave me alone. There's a reason for that. I don't want to die.

The prospect of someone sacrificing his life for me doesn't sit well, and I pull weakly on his arm to try and get him to back up. He slips it free and glances back at me briefly. "I'm asking you to trust me, okay? Without really understanding why, I need you to trust me. I don't care if it's hard, you don't have a choice. If you want to make it out of here alive, you have got to believe me when I say **I know what I'm doing**. Okay?" I nod, eyes wide, caught off guard. He is a strange animal. Slade makes an exaggerated noise of annoyance.

"Why do you care about him, all of a sudden? You know that you didn't even know he existed before tonight, don't you? Is it just to piss me off? Cause it's working, dude. It's working."

"Yes, Nick, I live to piss you off. Because the world revolves around you, doesn't it? It's not like I'm a free-thinking person who can choose my own friends or something crazy like that."

"Dude, we both know what you got behind you ain't a friend. That's a broken bag of bones right there. He ain't good for shit."

"Man, you're unbelievable. He probably believes that's true because of you. Do you see how afraid he is of you?" Slade looks awful proud of himself as he growls at me. I will myself not to jump no matter how much I want to.

"Yeah, I know. I've been building that for years. I'm good at making weak people scared. That's what I did to you, ain't it?"

"You did a hell of a lot to me, but you're fucking high if you think you're strong enough to keep me permanently afraid of you. Because I don't know if you noticed, but I'm standing up to you right now. And sure, maybe I'm scared, but I'm still doing it. Because that's what you taught me to do. You taught me that I'm always supposed to be afraid, so I might as well find a way to work through it if that's how my life's gonna be. Man, you think you own the world, don't you? You pick people out and you tear them down and you think that means you bought the rights to them. But all it takes is you pushing someone one inch too far for them to realize that you're nothing but a bully and an asshole and you're fucking scared, Nick. You act like this cause you're scared. You surround yourself with goons and you intimidate people into submission and you manipulate everybody. That's somebody who knows someday soon a fight is coming that he can't win, so he's gotta be ready with every trick in the book.

"So maybe it's taken me sixteen years to figure out, but you're nothing but smoke and mirrors. This kid behind me, who is worth much more than you seem to believe, he's me before I figured that out. He's me back when I convinced myself you ran with the wrong crowd. That you didn't create this 'Slade' guy, he was the product of a cold world that wants nothing to do with either of us. But what does it say about you that we both grew up in that world, and I turned out a decent human being and you turned out," Chris looks Slade up and down with disdain, "like that? Thing was, I believed that my brother was still in there. I believed in the good in you, Nick Scobille. And that's what made me vulnerable to all your games and your tricks and your scare tactics. You made me your first victim, the first of many. I stayed and I tried to save you and all you ever did was use that against me. Everyone else abandoned you, you became completely unbearable, and I still stuck around to try and help you and you made me feel weak and stupid for it. I told you everything about me and what I was going through and you just shut me out. He is me before I realized I didn't have to put up with your constant abuse.

"So, you know what? You with your blackmail and your holding shit over my head, I don't care anymore. You go ahead and tell everyone that I'm gay. You go run home right now and tell dad. Tell him he raised a faggot." It's clear in his voice that he hates that word. "You go tell him he should kill me the next time he sees me. That he should pummel the queer right out of me. That I'm worth more to him a dead straight kid than I am a living twink. Go fucking tell him. He's gonna find out anyway, it might as well be from his normal son. Cause I don't care anymore, I don't. What I do care about is Jon, this kid behind me who you're trying to victimize just like you tried to victimize me. It ends now, Nick. I won't let you keep living like this, destroying everything around you. So do what you need to do right now. Beat me up, yell at me, go tell dad, whatever you gotta do, but my mind won't change. This matters to me. Because I still have compassion, my heart isn't cold and dead like yours." It barely registers with me to wonder how he knows my name. My mind is too boggled with the fact that somebody just risked everything to keep me safe. When Slade fails to give a response, Chris laughs mirthlessly and turns to me. "We're leaving, come with me." It's nothing more than a mumble.


	2. Chapter 2: Save Yourself

A/N: Thank you to Deb for once again supporting me and encouraging me to keep going despite almost three years passing since the last time I put content out. It was inspiring to see that you've stuck with me even after all this time, and I am so grateful for you. Thanks as well to LHisawesome4ever, for taking the time to post your thoughts. I will be updating this story as much as possible, as you guys are very important to me but I also have other things in life that, while they aren't as fun as fanfiction, sometimes have to take priority. As an early Christmas gift I've prepared an update to this story, as I feel this experiment has been successful and it's worth continuing to upload this story on this platform. Please stick with me your support means the world to me and I swear I will do everything to make sure that Trust Me is worth your time.

Love, as always.

-SOSXE

I am legitimately blown away. Never in my life have I seen anyone talk to Slade like that. I know just from seeing him earlier that Chris is afraid of Slade. Yet he could say all of that and stand up to him? Not just stand up to him, but completely tear him down and expose him. Never in my life could I do something like that. My best line of defense is sarcasm and a frighteningly impressive ability to make it through enormous amounts of pain.

Chris drapes my arm around his shoulders and we make it a few steps before rapid footsteps echo down the street, quickly gaining on us. Chris bolts, and adrenaline pushes my feet to carry me with him. But, I repeat, I can barely stand, let alone run. The limping, awkward gait soon slows to a near stop. Even if I was at 100%, that kid is fucking fast and I don't know if I could keep up with him. In my current condition, it's impossible. Chris turns to see me rapidly losing ground. Without even a moment's hesitation, he picks me up over his shoulder and keeps running without hardly slowing down at all. I dig my nails into his skin, trying desperately to hold on, mostly because I know what'll happen if I fall. "Do you trust me?" He grunts out, sprinting around a corner.

The concept that I think Chris fails to comprehend is that I don't trust **anyone**. The last person I trusted was my mom and she skipped out on me when I was eight. I don't do trust. It makes you vulnerable. Not to mention, I met this guy like 25 minutes ago. He could be a serial killer for all I know, I hardly know anything about him. But now is not the time for us to sit down and have a heart-to-heart about my trust issues. Now is the time you act, you act fast and you act right, or you get destroyed. So what choice do I have?

"Yes." I mutter in his ear. He slows to a stop. The corner wall will give us cover, but only for a few more seconds.

"I'm dropping you in this alley. You need to sprint, and I know you're beat up, but you need to fucking sprint or they're gonna see you. Sprint and find something to hide behind. Not something like stupid obvious either, okay? No matter what happens, no matter what he does to me, no matter what you see or hear, you cannot move from that spot if you want any chance of survival. Do you understand?"

"Chris, wha—"

"No. No questions. Do you understand?" I nod curtly before employing what I imagined to be a sprint but was much more of a lopsided jog. But it's a jog for my life. Because even though he was trying to hide it, Chris sounded scared. I find a giant, heavy roll of unused chain link fencing propped up on a garbage can. Jackpot. Quickly, I shimmy my way under it, into safety, out of sight. Unable to resist my own curiosity though, I poke one eye out to see how Chris is going to get himself out of this one.

Answer? He isn't. He's just standing there. Waiting.

What?

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Uh oh. You found me." Slade smirks at him and pushes him back into the alley. Chris only smiles. "You worried about witnesses? Big scary big brother Nick is worried about someone breaking up his fun?"

"It's a percussion."

"I think you mean precaution," Chris tells him, snickering. Slade growls at him.

"This is your last chance, Chris. Tell me where you hid the street rat. I won't even make you hit him, since you suddenly care about him so much. Just lead me to him, and all you have to do is watch, and we'll be square. Your alternative is that I beat the information out of you, total the kid anyway, and then dad finds out you've been bringing boys up to your room when he works late. Think about what would happen if he found out. Think how ugly that would get. For once in your life, just pick the easy way out, man. This comes from a good place in my heart." Chris shows the ghost of a smile and looks down.

"What heart?"

"So it's gonna be the hard way, is it?"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Nick." Slade still twitches in anger at the name. "I'm not afraid of the big bad wolf. I've got nothing to lose. I don't know where Jon is, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Fucking come at me." Slade scratches his chin as if still weighing the options himself.

"Huh, nothing to lose. Interesting." The words are cold and detached, and before I know it there's a knife to Chris' neck. My stomach plummets through my shoes. _They're gonna gut him right in front of me._

But Chris doesn't even flinch.

"Oh wait," Slade tells him as if he had somewhere to go. "I have a better idea." He looks at each one of his thug friends in turn and then smiles, showing yellow teeth. "Search this place for the twerp. He couldn't have gotten far." Oh yay, that's me. I was starting to worry they'd forgotten.

Without a moment's hesitation, Chris punches Slade square in the jaw and sprints past three gang members, trying to make a run for it. For a moment, it actually looks like he's going to escape. He handles the whole thing right, like he'd done it a thousand times, but the odds are insurmountable. One of the goons sweeps his leg from behind and he hits the ground like a ton of bricks, face first. Said goon pulls Chris across the frozen pavement and back to the mouth of the alley. He sits down on Chris' back and Chris immediately starts squirming, almost as if he knows what's coming. I sure don't. The kid then grabs both Chris' ankles and pulls them towards his head. This effectively folds him up on himself, and the pained look in his eyes is almost too much for me to bear. Sure, I don't know the guy, but he's done a lot for me. And fuck, it looks like they're about to break him in half. But even through all the pain he must be feeling, he still isn't thinking of himself.

"You fucking leave the kid out of it!" He screams hoarsely, making the agony he's feeling obvious to anyone who hears it. _Me again. Why the fuck does he care so much?_

Slade shakes his head as he squats down to Chris' level, just out of his reach. "I'm a little let down that you thought I'd be too dumb to take advantage of you. That's what I do, isn't it? I **manipulate** people? I grew up with you, man. I know every strength and weakness. You're fine at taking the punishment, you have no real regard for your own safety. But you can't watch someone else take it. So what do you think I'm gonna do?" The kid I recognize as Lyja, the one sitting on Chris, he leans back and Chris screams hard. The very noise itself sounds like it was ripped out of him, like it hurt just to utter it. My breath catches in my chest. He's taking that for me, he could've easily given me up. I would've given him up.

I think, at least.

I don't even know him. I don't think I'd sacrifice my own safety for his. So why is he martyring himself for me?

One of Slade's other thugs is getting closer and closer to my hiding spot. I shrink against the building, trying to hide. But the chain above me creaks, just a bit, and I know I've given myself away. He lifts the heavy fence from off of me as if it were made of feathers and pulls me out by the collar of my jacket.

"Look what I found!" He shouts to the group gathered at the end of the alley. Chris' head snaps to the side and his eyes widen like saucers.

"Oh fuck no," it was probably supposed to be yelled but it came out as little more than a breath, clearly showing the hope leaving his body like air being let out of a balloon. I struggle and try to hit the boy dragging me toward the gang, but he slugs me hard in the face, stopping me momentarily. After that, he lifts me clear off the ground and holds me far enough away from him that I can't hit him again.

He drops me to the stone cold ground and I fail to keep my feet. Eyes locked on the gritty asphalt below me, I take a few deep, painful breaths. There is no way out. There is no one to stop him. This is going to be a long night.

I have to find within me the strength to face that. Me, a kid afraid of his own shadow. I have to reach within my chest and find the bulletproof courage I keep in short supply. I know if I use it now, there'll be none left for my father the next time he comes after me. But the thing is, if I don't make it through this night, I won't survive to see my dad's angry, boozed up face again. Courage won't do me any good six feet under the ground. I let the confidence surge through me with every painful beat of my heart, I let the will to live fill my lungs. I don't have to do it with a smile on my face, I don't have to be bulletproof, I just need life left in my body by the time the sun rises over Cincinnati once again.

I hear Chris' raspy voice from a few feet away.

"Run. Run, get out of here. Now."

"I can't just leave you like this," I whisper, still not looking him in the eye. This is my fight too. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't get out of here. I'm better off enduring Slade's rage than I am trying to outrun 10 guys with a bum knee and useless lungs. I chant inside my head, doing everything I can to stay grounded, to stay here, hopeful, present, alive. _You've done it before, you can do it again. You've done it before, you can do it again. You've done it before, you can do it again._

"You are not obligated to me. The life you need to save is your own."

"I can handle him." I feel Chris pound one of his fists against the ground in what is either mental anguish or physical pain. I don't know which one would be worse. "I'm asking you to _trust me_ ," I echo his words. "I don't care if it's hard, you have to do it. Neither one of us is getting out of this without a scratch." Before I can get confirmation from him, there's a hand roughly grabbing my chin, lifting me up to my knees. I don't even have the time to make eye contact with Slade before his fist connects with my jaw and I crumple back down to the concrete. That wasn't just a punch. That was a knuckle duster punch. Normal Slade punches don't dislocate my jaw and gash up my chin. Spitting blood out onto the ground, I force it to one side sharply to get it back into place and suppress a scream when it does.

"Ooh, this is a fun game." I cough out, turning my head back to look him in the eye. "We should play this more often. Regular punches were getting _so_ boring."

Slade laughs in an almost pitying way. "God, just… neither of you has any clue when to shut the fuck up, do you?"

"That is not known to be one of my many talents, no." He drags me up to my feet as a different kid pulls my jacket up and over my head. With one hand, he pulls one of my arms behind my back. More specifically, the right one, the one attached to my bad shoulder, the one that was dislocated by Slade himself before Chris made an appearance. I got it back in place pretty soon after it had happened, but fuck, it hurts. His other arm wraps around my neck, knife in hand. I whimper. He presses just deep enough to break the skin. I'm breathing crazy fast and shaking something fierce as he holds me tightly, pain radiating from my shoulder. The cold bites into my skin but the situation sets my nerves on fire, heart racing, sweating and squirming against Slade's much warmer body.

"Scared?" He hisses in my ear. "You're shaking like you're scared, tough guy." He slices deeper, enough that warm blood starts pouring from the gash. "Does having a knife in your throat make you uncomfortable?"

"Nick, please." Chris mumbles. Deeper. I'm afraid to breathe.

"Go ahead. Call me Nick again. Let's see how well that works out for you. Let's see how much it'd really bother me to have this street rat's blood on my hands." Slade leans his head against mine, his warm breath against my ear. "Ain't like anyone would miss him when he's gone." He whispers to me. "There's plenty of other weak, pathetic kids that daddy could play with, right?" I try to keep the reaction off my face, but my whole body goes stiff as a board. Slade knows better than anyone how to make me squirm. Chris winces as the name I've always known his brother by comes out of his mouth.

"Fine. _Slade_. You're gonna kill him. C'mon man, that's enough."

"What kind of big brother would I be if I didn't hold you accountable for your mistakes? How else are you supposed to learn?" The knife moves away from my throbbing neck, and I'm thankful for a brief moment before he pulls my arm out in front of me, keeping the other one pinned behind my back with the weight of his body. I can feel the twisted smirk on his face as he forces the weapon deep into my wrist. A dozen horizontal cuts make their way all the way up to my elbow. I try to pull my arm away, to get pressure on the wounds before the blood loss starts affecting my brain, but he's got a death grip on my wrist. Chris' face is ashen and his eyes cloud over with shame. "Am I embarrassing you?" Slade asks his brother. _What did I miss? What difference does it make to Chris where I bleed from?_

"Stop." His voice trembles. "That's a line you don't need to cross."

"What line?" Slade asks, snickering. "Since when is there a line? There's never been a line with me. None of your fuck ups are off limits." I struggle against his strong hands. In retaliation, he sinks his knife into my wrist again, slitting it vertically from the heel of my palm all the way down my forearm. I shriek with the sheer pain, grimacing and biting my lip. Every alarm is going off in my head. _This is how people commit suicide. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, he's gonna make it look like I did it to myself. The blood is gonna leave my body and I'm gonna be a cold, white corpse hidden away in an alley._ Slade clicks his tongue at me. "Am I hurting you? Sorry, bud. Blame my brother this time." He locks eyes with Chris and tilts my arm towards him so he can get an unobstructed view. Chris' face is turning green at the sight, looking like he's about to vomit. "See, Princess? This is the right way to do it."

"Put…" Chris briefly looks away and tries to compose himself. "Put the knife down, Slade." The name seems to pain him almost as much as the blood does. "If he dies, the fuzz are gonna come after you again, and you'll have to find a new toy, won't you? All those years of conditioning down the drain. You don't wanna lose him." I know he's trying to speak Slade's language to get me out of this, but the way he talks about me like an object strips away just a bit of the trust he was starting to earn. Slade thankfully flicks the knife closed but responds by wrapping that arm back around my bleeding neck and the one holding my wrist returns to my shoulder, wrenching it up my back, my wrist nearly touching my shoulder blade. I can feel the ligaments start to tear as he makes a far more earnest effort to make breathing impossible for me. Blood drips down my fingers and onto the cement beneath me. I'm in a bad, bad way. But I'm used to fighting for my life. It's been this way for years. It'll be this way until the day I escape the death trap that is the projects of Cincinnati. I just pray I'll live to see it.

"That kid has nothing to do with this between you and I. Please just leave him out of it. He doesn't have to be collateral damage."

"Well, first off, it's so much more fun this way. Second, you need to wake the fuck up, Princess." Chris flinches as if he had been hit.

"Don't."

"Don't tell me what to do, how about? Wake up, because this isn't about you. This is about me and him. You're the one trying to get in the middle of something that doesn't even concern you." Chris struggles with the weight on top of him, but it's too much. The constant pain is still obvious on his face. "To be honest, I don't really know why you put yourself in this position. But why should I care that idiots travel in packs? Problem is, you refuse to accept the fact that this little piece of shit street scum, he's mine. You're about three years too late to change that. You could've kept yourself safe, you could've stayed out of it, but you just gotta be a goddamn hero, don't you?"

"But—"

"One more thing, too, dumbass. You think he's such a freaking angel, he's far from innocent. You don't even know him." He looks down at me. "Wanna tell him how I met you, huh?" Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Ain't no way those words are coming from my mouth. His arm wraps tighter around my throat, and I have to force the air into my lungs.

"Hard to tell your little stories when I can't breathe." I rasp. His grip slackens just a little bit. "Thanks. That was nice. You're such a teddy bear, Slade." He yanks violently on my injured shoulder, and I groan through my teeth.

"Tell him," Slade commands me.

"Go to hell. They miss you back where you belong." Now I'm suffocating.

"You're a funny fucker. You're real fuckin' funny sometimes, kid. You want me to tell him? Is it too **hard** for you to say it?"

"You know, I'd really rather no one say it, but if that's not one of the options—" My words get cut off when my airway does.

"Story time, kid. You were only what, twelve?" He pauses like he's expecting an answer when he knows I can't give one. "Yeah, twelve. You been a delinquent since you were four feet tall, right? Stealing smokes from a gas station. All scared when I caught him, begs me not to take them, they're for his old man, he says. Give me a reason to let you go, I tell him." I squirm in his arms, pain shooting up my arm. It's just a side effect. What's got me worried is where this story is going. I don't wanna hear it. Not out loud. Not right now.

"No," I choke out, hardly even audible. "No more, please. Don't."

"I gave you the chance to tell him yourself, kid. Doesn't he deserve the truth? All the sacrifices he made for you tonight, and you still wanna lie to him? Damn, that's cold."

"Nick—" Chris starts, clearly forgetting Slade's #1 rule.

"Holy shit dude!" He screams, wrenching my shoulder back. "Get it through your skull! You use that name one more time and you will seriously regret it. This is your last warning." My mouth is open in a silent scream as I throw my head back against Slade's chest, fists clenched, trying and failing to breathe through it. The sizzling pain shoots from my shoulder all the way down my spine. The tendons are just begging for a reason to tear themselves completely off my bones. I will Chris silently not to let that word leave his lips again. I think my arm may be ripped from my body if he chooses to disobey his brother.

Chris meets the threat with defeated silence. Slade smirks. "That's what I like to see. We're just about to get to the good part, you don't want to interrupt me again. Scared little street rat with the black eye tells me if he comes back home empty-handed, his daddy ain't gonna take it well." I struggle harder. Nothing is off limits for Slade. Never has been. "Oh, and what ever could _that_ mean? He gets tight-lipped after that, but threatening to take them away made him much more responsive." I stare straight ahead as my body starts to tremble. I'm caught between caring with everything I have and being numb to the whole thing. I know my stupid emotions are gonna win. And I also know that, like an idiot, my mouth will deny what my heart knows is true as soon as those words are said out loud.

"Fine, you win. My dad beats the shit out of me, calls me worthless every chance he gets, breaks my bones, tears my flesh. Ruins me. Regularly. There, happy?" It's far from the whole truth, but I hope against hope that it's good enough for him. He just laughs, and I know there's no way I've satisfied him.

"You have a funny definition of the truth, kid. Here's a hint: it involves the whole story, not just the parts that don't make you look bad. We both know what happened that night. _Everything_ that happened. All the gory details. And you're sorely mistaken if you imagine I don't plan to expose it all. You're done. Give up."

"Please," I beg, a futile last-ditch effort. But there's no mercy. Not in my world. Not in Slade's world.


	3. Chapter 3: Liar, Liar

A/N: Thank you once again to LHisawesome4ever for your continued support of Trust Me. It means a lot to me to know what you guys think as my opinion of my own stories is not the only one that matters and I have no real way of knowing how my writing is being received if you don't talk to me. Fair warning as well: this chapter and most of the ones after it have the possibility of being very triggering, so read at your own risk. It's rated M for a reason, and I don't want you guys to be uncomfortable.

Keep up the reviews, please, and I will do my very best to upload as much as possible.

Love, as always.

-SOSXE

My pleas mean nothing to him. They never have.

"Ah, and then it all came out. The kid admits that daddy's gonna touch him again if he makes him too mad." I try to ignore Chris' reaction, but it's impossible to miss how his whole face falls. Pity cascades like an avalanche from his eyes to his mouth to his body language. It's over. The light, the fight, the passion is robbed from his expression, and all that's left is a horrified emptiness. His lips form the words _Oh my god,_ but shock traps the sound inside his throat. I try to wipe any reaction off my face. I haven't heard those words in the longest time, yet it's like salt in a fresh wound. Perhaps that's one that will never heal.

"You're a liar," I gasp, staring hard at the ground. "You're a liar, my father is a good man, he throws me around every once in a while, but I usually deserve it. He would never do that to me." Defending my dad eats at me, acid in my mouth, but believe me when I tell you that a confession may actually burn a hole through my tongue.

" _I'm_ a liar?" Slade asks, amusement in his voice. "Is that what your **rapist** daddy taught you to say? I get that you're ashamed and everything, since, you know, it's basically all your fault. But this is me. You've never been able to hide all those ugly things from me. I know all your tricks."

"No. You're wrong."

"You **know** I'm right. You're just making yourself look foolish at this point."

"You're making this up so that he'll think I'm weak."

"He's not stupid. Pretty sure he knew from square one that you were pretty pathetic. He didn't need to know your big secret to prove that."

"It's not a secret." The words come out through clenched teeth. "Secrets are something you use to hide from the truth." The denial is blatantly desperate at this point and I know no one is buying it. But this still hurts less than admitting to the truth.

"Oh would you just shut up with that?"

"It'll be a cold day in hell when I admit one of your bullshit lies is the truth." My arm, my neck, and my shame all throb in time. Slade's arm releases my throat and grabs hold of my hair, yanking it up to direct my line of vision to Chris. Chris, who looks like the compunction alone could flatten him into a pancake. I can feel my face get hot as his eyes meet mine. He thinks I'm a kicked puppy, it's clear. _Someone make Slade stop, someone make him shut up, talk about anything else, someone wipe that look off Chris' face, fuck, I can't handle that look._

"Does he look like he believes your lie?" Nope. No. But something in me won't let this go.

"My dad does not," I force down the lump in my throat, "touch me. Not like that. Never like that."

"Really? So I made it all up, is that your play?" I nod slowly. "And why would I do that?"

"Cause you're a terrible fucking person who enjoys other people's pain!"

"Ouch."

"Yeah, and you're a goddamn liar!" Mistakes, mistakes, I'm making a giant string of mistakes that will almost certainly get me in very hot water.

"You probably should think before you use sharp words like that, kid. I might make you swallow them." It's a perfectly calm, even statement, but there's a clear threat in it. His arm goes back to my throat and I start clawing at it and gasping. He laughs, and I can feel it in my bones. It's chilling. "Having a hard time getting those lies out when you can't breathe? Yeah, let's hear you try to stop me now. I'm keeping you out pretty late tonight, think daddy will have your ass over that? I hope so." My cheeks burn. _Please stop talking. Please stop talking._ "S'matter, bud? You embarrassed? Or is that a lack of oxygen turning your face that color?" I dig my nails harder into his arm, but I don't have any more breath to keep denying his allegations. All I want is to get off this subject. I don't have the energy for lies or the courage for the truth. I squirm in Slade's arms and he sinks his sharp nails into my neck. Chris swallows hard as the pity turns to an angry kind of defensiveness. But I don't want him to stand up for me. I don't want anyone to talk. I want off this subject. _Please stop talking. Do what you want to me, I don't care, but stop talking._

"Why don't you try keeping people's personal lives out of your pointless vendettas?" His voice shakes, and I can guarantee you he'll never see me the same way again.

"Pointless? I'm not done. I try to take the pack from him, cause you know I'm just lookin' out for him. Second-hand smoke is dangerous, and I was getting a crave. Two birds, one stone. And he decides to punch me in my goddamn face! Breaks my nose, it's still all messed up." I see my opportunity to get the focus off of me and I seize it immediately. I shoot myself in the arm with some fabricated confidence and laugh softly through my rapidly constricting airway.

"Your face was messed up long before I met you. As far as fucking over your chances to get a date with a girl, life beat me to it."

"God, you're fucking asking for it tonight, aren't you?"

"He's right," Chris adds, "your face has always been like that."

"Do you wanna see how bad I could fuck up that fag-magnet of a face you got, or do you wanna shut the fuck up?" Chris stares right back at Slade, unwavering.

"You wanna let the kid go and fight me like a man? We can go right now."

"Sounds pretty boring to me, actually. You know what's more fun? This." Slade yanks on my arm violently and I feel it snap completely out of the socket. The agony is so much that my knees go weak, and Slade's arms are the only things keeping me from hitting the ground. I scream and scream until Slade's arm around my neck gets so tight that the sound can't get out anymore. My lungs burn as the wicked pain from my shoulder courses through my whole body. Chris winces hard. "See? Fun. It's fun when you talk back to me. It's real fucking fun. Hey, Lyja." Slade calls. Lyja turns his head in our direction. "Show me you aren't a one-trick pony, man." Smiling his half-toothless smile, he plants one foot between Chris' legs, then crosses one over the other on top of his own leg, leaning back into it. It looks like he's about to snap in eight different places on his body. Chris presses his forehead to the ground, covers his head with his arms, and screams into the pavement. Slade just nods bemusedly, speaking right over his brother's cries. "Yep. Yep, just let it out. Hurts, doesn't it?"

I pull against him, wanting to do something to help, but he jerks me back and resigns me to standing in silence while Chris suffers. "It's nice to see **you** paying for your decision to get us both into that wrestling crap instead of it always being me."

"I told dad," Chris mumbles through his labored, pained breathing. "I told dad it was my fault. He wouldn't listen. You **know** I told him."

"You wonder why I hate you so much, you're so blind! You were the reason why dad wailed on me, you were the reason I got thrown in juvie, and you're Mr. Fucking Perfect over there like you ain't never done nothing wrong."

" **You** are the reason why you got thrown in juvie." He replies quietly. "I didn't give you lines to snort. I stopped them from killing you. Would the right thing to do have been letting you destroy yourself from the inside out?"

"I can take care of myself, Princess. I don't need you on your high horse always thinking you know what's best for everyone. You don't know everything. You're just a stupid kid."

"You can take care of yourself. That's hysterical. You're a lowdown, dropout, deadbeat piece of shit, you can't do anything on your own. You can't even beat me up on your own. Unless you count living in a crack den and knocking up ugly girls taking care of yourself, which is where your life is headed by the way, then no, you can't. You told me that you would be fine, and I needed to get my panties out of a bunch, but look at you now. You're a loser, dude. I'd be a gigantic gullible idiot to trust you with anything, ever again." The words are quiet and clearly difficult for him to get out, but they're mean, ugly, honest words. The worst kind of words to use in a situation like this. Chris is so terrible at knowing when not to poke the bear.

Then again, so am I.

"This is such a vicious cycle we're caught in, Princess. Someone's got to put an end to it. Cause we could sit here insulting each other all night, but I think I have a more long-term solution. I've tried to be nice, but you just need to be fucking grabbed by the throat and _shown_ why you shouldn't mess with me, don't you?" Uh oh. Shown. Shown means bad news for me. Shown means I'm going to be made into an example. Shown means I'm fucked.

"Do whatever you want to me, I don't care." They're defeated words coming from a defiant place in Chris' heart, almost like he's daring Slade to hurt him. But he won't. That wouldn't teach him anything. Chris can handle getting hurt. But there's something else he can't handle.

"Oh, I would never lay a hand on my brother. That's just cruel. And unimaginative." Confusion only flashes for a moment on Chris' face before it's immediately replaced with terror and a mortified understanding.

"No." He breathes. One of the other gang members kneels next to Chris and yanks his head up by his hair. Slade releases me and I fall to the ground, his foot smashing my head into the sidewalk. From somewhere above me, I hear a belt buckle jingling as it comes undone. My guts freeze. That's a sound I've learned to fear before I ever even met Slade. See, my dad and Cincinnati's favorite dark alley thug have a lot in common. They both hate me, they both love to drink, they're both sadistic sons of bitches, and they both have a proclivity for taking their belts off and hitting people with them. Slade is showing off the whole quad tonight.

And oh boy am I fucked tonight, because Slade thinks he has something to prove. Jolted back up to my knees by my t-shirt collar, it's then torn down the front and pulled off of me. Great. There goes my last shirt. One guy grabs each of my hands as they're pulled out to my sides and away from any place where they might offer me self-protection. They're yanked so hard that my shoulder slips back into place, and I stuff down a scream. My eyes inadvertently meet Chris', and in his expression is a fear more intense than any I've ever seen, even in myself. Suddenly he's breathing impossibly fast and squirming like a captured wild animal. His head is down on the pavement and his whole body trembles.

"Oh no, it's a _panic attack,_ God, you're such a pussy!" Slade yells at him. A panic attack? What the hell is that? Is he gonna die? Why isn't anyone helping him?

"It'll be okay," I mutter under my breath. I don't know if the lie is for his peace of mind or my own. "It'll be okay, I'll be okay, we'll be okay."

"Fat lot of good that'll do him. He can't even hear you, you fucking idiot." Slade cackles. I pull desperately at the people holding my arms, trying to get myself free, but it's useless. I'm helpless.

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?" I hiss at him.

"Nothing. It's what you're best at." He sneers, smacking the back of my head. "Someone wake Princess up. He's not gonna want to miss the fireworks." One of the gang members steps forward and dumps half a plastic bottle of water onto his head. He picks his head up, eyes wide, and immediately starts shivering. "Welcome back to the land of the not mentally retarded, my friend. You're starting to test my patience, which doesn't bode well for your new buddy." Chris gasps and shakes his head out, water flying in all directions, still desperate for air.

"Would it kill you…" he breathes, "to get your bitch off my back? He's… crushing my lungs."

"Oh no, is our hospitality not up to your standards? Suck it up, Princess." Chris looks even more shaken up than before his so-called 'panic attack'. I mean, I've never even heard of a panic attack. From the looks of it, though, it's bad. And from the looks of it… it's a lot like something I've been through on more than one occasion. "Now, if your dumb ass can stay with us for more than five minutes at a time, we have business to attend to. You're always on me about how I need to take more accountability for my actions, right? Let's see the kid take accountability for **you**. It's not like he's been ruined already tonight, let's just keep piling it on. Great idea, brother." He looks to me with mock pity in his eyes. "Kid, I really should give you full discourse now." I bite back the sarcastic voice inside my head screaming at me to correct Slade's wordage. Of course, he meant disclosure. But a whole lot of good that'd do me, one more gentle push and Slade might literally murder me tonight.

"Because I'm a reasonable guy, you know I am." I see Chris hold himself back from every objection he has to that statement. "I'm going to give you one last chance. Right now, you admit that you lied to me and everyone else here, you confess, and this will be over very quickly. Compared to what your daddy does to you, and each and every one of us knows that he does it, it'll be nothing. Nothing." I sigh heavily. As much as I'd love to avoid _another_ beating, all it is is one more beating. I'm beyond used to that. The prospect of saying out loud what I haven't said since the night I met Slade is far more terrifying than any amount of physical pain.

Of course, I say that now, but Slade has a way with that belt. I know there's a decent chance that, even though I'll hate myself for every second of it, I'll give into him eventually. But as long as I believe there's even a fraction of a chance that I won't have to tell anyone the truth of my home life, there is no way those words will come from my mouth. So, I slowly shake my head in response to Slade's proposal, eyes firmly affixed on the ground. He clicks his tongue at me.

"I'd love to say that I'm disappointed, but I'm actually very much looking forwa—" Slade cuts himself off to catch me with a surprise attack. The belt cracks savagely against my back and the pain sets my nerves on edge.

"Ah," I mutter under my breath, more from the surprise than the pain. Regardless, I know what the sound meant to my tormentors. Jon isn't game tonight. He'll crack in five minutes. The me that they're used to can take an hour's worth of beating without letting out a whimper. Slade's beaten me with everything from belts to chains to pipes to bats, and I've gotten a reputation as some sort of cyborg for being able to withstand it all. Given, all that really does is make him more desperate to make me hurt, make me scream, make me beg. Some nights he loses, most nights he wins. My resistance fuels him, it's like he enjoys the challenge. That singular, nearly silent noise from me tells them that Jon is ready to break tonight. In other words, the polar opposite of the front I need to put up.

"Aw, don't you like surprises? They're my favorite. Keep ya on your toes." It isn't until now that I realize my back hasn't healed since the last time someone did this to me. Who it was, I couldn't for the life of me tell you. Even outside of Slade and my dad, there's a handful of others who have brought some kind of attack to my back at least once. Drug dealers, school teachers, let's just say I rub a lot of dangerous, powerful people the wrong way. That just puts a big red circle around the statement 'this is going to be a long night'. The last thing I need is another way for this to get worse. But, as per usual, life refuses to take pity on me and luck is a thing I've never known.

I try to lower myself to the cold gravel covered ground to take away his leverage, but no such luck. Those holding my arms won't let go, and the torque on my shoulder is unbearable. The belt comes down again across my shoulders as I continue my futile escape attempt by pulling back on my arms, trying to get the ones holding me to release them. As soon as the feeling registers in my brain, I give up the resistance effort and bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. All my energy now must be channeled into not making any noise. Each sound to them is like blood in the water.

"C'mon, scream for me." Slade taunts, hitting me again, harder. He's still met with stone-faced silence. "You know how this turns out **every single time,** street rat. You'll cave. You always do. Whether it's two minutes or two hours, you'll fucking crumble at my feet. Save yourself the extra embarrassment and the extra pain, and just give, right now. None of us will think any better of you if you keep holding out. You aren't brave, you're stupid. You know me, I'm not the mercy type. This is your final warning."


	4. Chapter 4: Foolish Pride

A/N: Deb, you reviewed my last chapter less than an hour after it went up, that was so cool! Thank you once again for your continued support. This is the last of what I already had written for Trust Me, so it may be a while before another update, but I promise not to leave it unfinished. Please don't give up on me, my creative process is much longer than I want it to be.

Love as always.

-SOSXE

When I give him nothing, he delivers three more measured blows to my shoulders. Each is met with a sharp intake of breath from me, but the last one draws a very, very quiet scream. Slade's fingers gently run across the quickly rising welts, as if he felt remorse, which is hilarious. If sociopaths could feel any emotion at all, remorse certainly wouldn't be the one they'd pick. I flinch away from his touch and he claps me on the shoulder. Hard.

 _"_ _Shit,"_ I hiss through my teeth.

"I don't want to hurt you, kid. I really don't. But you leave me no choice." I force a laugh from my heaving lungs.

"You're a sick… psychopathic sadist… Don't act like… you aren't enjoying… every second... You're perverted… and you enjoy seeing… other people's pain. Own that shit… or get… some fucking help… and leave me alone." Five lashes wrap around my rib cage, and the sheer force of the pain rips a wounded, vulnerable noise from between my lips. I bow my head as it falls out of my mouth, not wanting to face anyone's reaction to my weakness. Much to my chagrin, my head is immediately pulled back up, inadvertently meeting Chris' eyes.

"What, don't you know it's polite to keep eye contact with people? I mean, I get that you're half-retarded because no one in your sorry excuse for a family ever cared enough to teach you how to function like a normal human being. But, how else is my brother supposed to learn from this? Don't be so selfish, kid. C'mon, I thought you were better than that. You gotta watch your step, cause tonight you're in the driver's seat. Do you have a confession?"

"Fuck you."

"Wrong answer."

"Yeah, go ahead, hit me, see if I ca—" I'm cut off by the crack of his belt against my spine once again. The end of the word turns into a desperate attempt to keep the noise in. I don't know why I bother. They can all tell this is getting to me. The only power I have lies in whether or not I give up this information.

"I'll make you care, you little bastard." What could've been anywhere from 10 to 25 blows rain down on me as the count is lost in the disorganized agony. I gasp for air, occasionally letting out sounds obviously pained but not quite screams. I'm in deep, deep shit right now, and there's no way out for me. No easy way, at least. I'd take any out that didn't include the truth. But I don't think that exists. Not tonight. Every exit plan is beaten before it's even thought of. There's no escape. Slade pauses the attack. "Confess, Jon," he whispers in my ear.

The part of my brain where all my pride falls away and only cold logic remains screams at me for my willful idiocy. I keep doing these things knowing that absolutely nothing good will come of them. I'm acting like a complete and utter moron. I'm calling one of the most dangerous people I know on all his shit, and yet I somehow remain surprised at the massive amounts of pain he continues to inflict on me. I know what he's capable of, yet I continue to act as though I can cheat fate, evade the inevitable. I of all people should know that Slade, especially Slade surrounded by ten of his favorite goons, is an inescapable reality. There's no getting away from him. And I know from experience that sharp words don't pierce him, they only piss him off.

And amongst all the horrible things he has said about me tonight, he still has a point. I should know better. Why don't I know better?

In a very out of character move, he keeps giving me chances to save myself, he's showing me mercy in his own strange way, and I refuse to take him up on it. And why? To preserve some false image? To cling to a shred of pride? To pretend I have an ounce of privacy?

And yet, no matter how hard that logical side screams at me, no matter how much he begs me to change my mind, no matter how many times he tries to overpower me, I continue to ignore him. He's trying to save me, and I'm too stubborn to even give him a chance.

I'm gonna regret these decisions for years to come, but I can't force myself to do the right thing. I'm too worked up. I'm too angry… too scared… too weak.

"I don't have anything to confess!" I gasp.

I couldn't tell you how many times he hit me after that, but suffice it to say half an eternity passed while he wore me out. The full, lung-emptying, lightheaded screams came not far after he restarted the punishment with renewed vigor. The kind of screams that take a part of your soul with them. The kind that couldn't be caused by anything short of an assault so vicious you fear for your life. The kind he's never torn from my throat before.

Of course, my dad has. But that's a different story for a different time.

There's a kind of hunger in Slade that I've yet to see from him in the past. Like an insatiable need, he's not normally driven like this. He's always been hot-headed, but I've never seen him so… ugly is the only name I can give to it. I've never seen him in such an ugly, fuck the world kind of mood. It scares me, mostly because it's even less controlled than the usual Slade.

This is the worst it's ever been with him.

Because usually it's one big game. It's for his own amusement. Some nights I play along, some nights I purposely break the rules, but he's always in it for kicks, for the thrill of destruction. For the kind of unbridled joy that splays across his face any time he sees any sort of discomfort from me. But tonight, there's this furious energy in the way he hits me. Like somehow causing me pain is the only thing keeping him alive.

I know that he won't stop until he gets what he wants from me.

But my body refuses to give it tonight. Half of me wishes it would. There is an undeniable part of my person that needs this to end. The smart side. But I can't do what he says, because the other side of me is stronger and far more stubborn, and he's taking the reins tonight. For a litany of stupid reasons, but I couldn't tell you for sure which one is driving him. Maybe it's this kid in front of me who I feel like I can't let down, maybe I'm just finally ready to escape this never-ending nightmare. Maybe it's the threat of having to utter those words if I give in.

It's probably that last one.

In a half-second pause between my screams, Chris quietly pleads with me. "Please, just give it up, Jon. It's not worth it. You don't have anything to prove." I bite back everything that wants to come out after that, from screams to sorrys to shut ups. This is one time where I can actually recognize I'm better off keeping my mouth shut.

I know, it's a miracle, right?

Slade pauses momentarily. "Wow, even Princess is on my side. That's how you know you're really being stupid, kid. He hates my guts, he never backs me up. Damn, if you won't do it for me, do it for your new hero, huh? Just spill your guts, tell the truth before things get ugly." _Things are already ugly. Things are_ _ **very**_ _ugly._ I don't offer my usual smartass answer. I don't offer any answer. I can recognize when I only have the potential to make things worse. My eyes drift towards the ground after that. I don't need anyone seeing what's going on in my head behind my eyes.

The belt swishes through the air and lands on my back again, and I can feel the drops of warm blood sliding down the curve of my spine. I curse the single tear that falls to the concrete and I do everything in my power not to let another one escape. My whole face feels painfully tight. I can still feel the blood pouring from my wrist like an open faucet, a red panic light's flash burned in the back of my mind as I wonder if my flayed open arm is the result of a ruptured artery. If it is, my time is quickly running out. My whole body shakes, not the light kind either, it's violent. Seizure-like. And try as I might, I can't stop it. I just know that if I tried to force any words out, I'd break down into the kind of heaving sobs that convince you you'll be losing your lunch and your sanity all in one go.

Erratic, pissed off blows from the belt engulf my whole world. My very hysterical breathing trembles with the pain. It thumps in my ears, it paints my skin, it becomes the only thing I can think of. I've experienced this before. It's like I get in this state where my pain is the only thing in my world. That's all there is, nothing else. There's no other people, there's no other things, if it's raining, if it's snowing, if I'm freezing, sweating, there's nothing but the pain. Every so often, Slade's voice breaks through the haze, but nothing clears it.

"Y'know, Princess, if you could get your morals on track, we'd make a good team," Slade muses, each syllable deliberate, his belt off my back but his hand on my bad shoulder, standing by my side, clearly waiting for Chris to say the wrong thing so I can pay the price for it. Chris coughs, wincing with the pain as there's still someone bending him ten different ways human beings aren't supposed to bend.

"You killed my brother. You can go to hell." Slade laughs and I can see him turn towards me out of the corner of my eye.

"Honestly, kid, it's like he doesn't even care about you." He kneads my shoulder heavy-handedly and I scream hard, trying to turn my head away. I pull at the person holding my good arm, trying to get it free so I can push Slade off, but he won't budge.

"Stop," I whisper. "Stopstopstopstopstopstop." The words run into each other in my desperate attempt to get him to lay off my wounded shoulder. He completely ignores me, focused on his brother, hand never leaving my shoulder.

"Chris-to-pher Sco-bill-e," Slade sings. "When will you learn? This is not how we make new friends. No one's ever gonna like you if you're the reason why they get hurt. I really hate to make an example out of someone, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to break your charity case here tonight just to get through that thick skull of yours."

"I'm sorry, you're gonna what now?" I ask, shaking voice as loud as I can make it. His statement momentarily shatters the fog I'm in like a pane of glass. Slade doesn't throw words around like those. He means that. It's almost funny to imagine that Slade thinks I'm not broken already. My dad beat him to it over two years ago, and I've never quite managed to glue all my pieces together before he shatters me again. You can't break what's already broken, Slade. But that won't stop him from trying.

And in my experience, when someone decides they want to try to break you, they mean business. Hardly anything can convince them to stop before they've achieved what they set out to.

"You heard me. Seems as though you think I can't. You think you, you fucking powerless 14-year-old kid, can outlast me. Can withstand whatever I want to throw at you. You're fucking wrong. And I'm gonna prove it. I'm going to embarrass you and I'm going to make you tell everyone here the truth about you, because fuck you for disrespecting me and doubting me. You should know better." Chris looks at him with hysteria and panic edging into his eyes.

"Nick—" he starts. I can see him immediately recognize his mistake even before Slade begins punishing me for it.

"Do. Not. Call. Me. That. Again." He hits me to punctuate every word, then picks up a methodical pace, and doesn't even react when I start to scream again. I can feel the adrenaline in him through every single strike. Fuck, they hurt so much more tonight. He pauses, and I try to catch my breath. He crouches down to my level, careful to make sure his brother still has a full view, and pushes my bangs out of my face. I snap my head back from his hand. I don't want him touching me. I don't trust him for a fucking second. He shakes his head as if he was disappointed. "You're not going to last much longer." The words are soft, unfeeling, and matter-of-fact. And I know they're true, yet I can't bring myself to give up. The haze lifts just long enough for me to come up with the kind of stupid response that really should not be escaping my mouth at this point. He thinks he can break me. Let's see him try. I have maybe half an ounce of defiance left in my whole body, and I dig deep down for the energy to turn it into a statement. This might be my last gasp effort. I don't know how much longer I can put up a fight.

"My 65-year-old history teacher hits harder than you." Chris' eyes get wide.

"Fucking hell, Jon, don't—" He warns me before the whipping continues, somehow with even more ire than before. There's fucking wrath in each of those blows. The pain is so bad that it permeates all my senses. I can fucking taste this pain, I can smell it. It's in every corner of my consciousness, devouring my sanity. The sound of my own screams echoing off the walls of this crushing loneliness eventually drives me insane, the curtain distancing me from reality vanishes, and I break down. Man, I break down hard. Turns out somewhere inside me, there was still something whole left that could be broken.

"Okay," I sob. The whole world screeches to a halt. The belt clangs to the ground. Everyone around me holds their breath. "Okay, enough. Enough, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm so fucking sorry. Please stop. Please." My cheeks get hot at the way I beg for my life. My pride is in shattered pieces at my feet. At least there's nothing left for me to swallow. It's fucking hard to do this, but I think any more of the systematic destruction will kill me.

My logical side is back, and he's screaming in my ears, refusing to relent for even a moment while I try to keep myself from completely losing my shit. _You could've avoided all of this if you were capable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second._

"I try to tell you that I always get what I want in the end. You never listen to me." The amount of self-satisfaction in Slade's voice is enough to make me want to vomit. "You never do. You always think you're right, don't you?" I don't supply an answer, and he responds by digging his nails into my shoulders and dragging them all the way down my back. I breathe in sharply. As I'm about to open my mouth to give what surely would've been a smartass reply, he yanks my hair back, hard. I have no choice but to look up into his eyes, wicked and cold and gloating. "Respectfully." He reminds me, his tone cool and hardened, his eyes lit up with the fire of someone who knows they won and are enjoying it far more than any sane person would. But I know what to say to make him happy, and at this point the only thing I care about is him leaving me alone. I take a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to look away from those god-awful, passionless eyes. My whole body trembles with pain and exhaustion, and even keeping myself from falling face first onto the cold, hard ground is a herculean task.

"You win. I'm sorry, this was all my fault and probably a waste of your time." I tell him, measured, doing everything to keep from tearing into him about how fucking sick he is and how karma will come for him someday. He's got enough of that coming around that it'd probably kill him if it ever caught up to him. He's a terrible human being. The tears stream down my cheeks, and the angry side of me makes an appearance, the part that hates me and seems to only show up right as I've failed miserably at something I could've easily succeeded at. He's all in my ear about it. _Listen to you. Listen to how weak you sound._ _Every time they see you from now on, this is what they're going to see. You'll never bounce back from this._

"It's getting pretty frosty in hell, kid." He smirks, echoing my taunt from before. "Out with it, come on. Tell my brother that ugly truth about you, now." He must see the conflict in my eyes, because he clarifies himself, yanking harder on my hair and digging his knife out of his pocket, running the tip down my chest. "You're going to say it, and you're going to say it to his face, because you know exactly what will happen if I lose my patience with you." He pushes my head down to make eye contact with Chris. In his eyes is the kind of horror so intense that you feel like you have to cover it up with some false front of normalcy. He really needs to learn a better poker face.

He mouths the words 'it's okay' to me. I understand he's trying to give me some comfort, but this is the farthest possible thing from okay.

"My…" my voice trembles like an earthquake, and I try desperately to get it to stop before continuing. "My dad, my only family, has been raping and beating me for the past two and a half years." I tear my eyes away from Chris before I can see his reaction, and I look back to Slade. _Happy?_

"Good job." He pats me on the head like a dog. "See where lying gets you?" I look down, another tear falling to the pavement. I nod, swallowing hard. He leans close to me.

"Call Chris a faggot, right to his face, and I'll let you go." He whispers in my ear. Disregarding my better judgment, I snap a reply.

"You j-just told me to st-stop lying." He smacks me hard in the face. My cheek smarts from the blow, and I can feel it turning red. Whether that be from the slap or the shame, I couldn't tell you for sure.

"Do I look like I give a shit if you think it's true or not?" _Don't do it, Jon._

"No." He places a hand on my bad shoulder. The touch alone makes me flinch. It's in really bad shape right now, and at this point, a gentle breeze could probably dislocate it.

"You're gonna do it, or I'm gonna yank this thing out of its fucking socket again. Your choice." _Don't you dare do it._ _After all he did for you, you wanna betray him just to save your own skin? Pathetic._

 ** _I don't see you coming up with any genius ideas!_** ** _I don't have another option. Would it be smarter to let him keep wrecking me?_**

Against every bone in my body, I give him what he wants. I take a deep, painful breath.

"Y-you're a f-f-faggot." I hold back a sob as they drop my arms and I fall to the frozen concrete. Slade laughs in an almost pitying way.

"Broken. Beyond a shadow of a doubt." He begins to walk away, throwing sharp words like knives back over his shoulder as he leaves. "Chris, maybe when dad breaks **you** he can fix that faggot brain of yours so you can stop being an embarrassment to the Scobille name. Maybe he'll even have a couple drinks first, wouldn't that be fun?" Even through the dark cloud of pain and shame I'm engulfed in, it's easy for me to tell that Slade has never used a tone that horribly cruel and sadistic in his whole life.


End file.
